Hollow Heroes
by BBW Tammy
Summary: A deeper look into the characters' feelings from the episode, "Wilson's Heart", one of the saddest ever.


**Crowded streets are cleared away  
>One by One<br>Hollow heroes separate  
>As they run<strong>

_Kutner:_  
>I always liked to think doctors couldn't die, that they were separate from the rest of the world because they couldn't get sick.<p>

And then Amber happened.

Funny how she went from cutthroat bitch to Amber; just Amber, in my head so quickly. That she could make a full hospital feel empty with her misery. That she finally grew on me then vanished.

I clutched the phone, nine new voicemail, but for once I didn't want to talk. The world was on pause, I couldn't hit play quite yet. I replaced the phone carefully, striding over to the kitchen. Contemplating the contents of the fridge, and brushing across the things in the cupboard, I settled on Captain Crunch. It was the first thing I ate after my parents got shot: then it took my grandparents forever to get me to eat, now I was shoving it down in mouthful's. I turned the TV on, letting my too-full mind finally sleep.

**You're so cold  
>Keep your hand in mine<br>Wise men wonder while  
>Strong men die<strong>

_Taub:_  
>Stroking the curves of my wife never felt so sacred. Laying my head on her shoulder I noticed the rhythmic rise and fall, she slept well, and oblivious. Should I tell her what me and that nurse did? I wondered if that was honesty or cruelty. And what if she left?<p>

I wouldn't make it. I savored her aroma, Amber just proved to us that things don't last forever. My hand slid into hers, I wrapped my fingers to warm her frozen ones.

"Mmm, Chris?" My wife squeezed a little bit. "You're home." She smiled a little.

I nodded, anxious: tell her, tell her not. "Yeah, hey I-" I couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't hurt her.

She sighed and laid on her back, "You.."

"I...love you so much." Nothing compared to her happiness, or how she kissed me lightly, and I knew, because I couldn't hurt her, I could finally just love her. Simply and truly.

**Show me how it ends, it's alright  
>Show me how defenseless you really are<br>Satisfied and empty inside  
>Well, that's alright, let's give this another try<strong>

_Thirteen:  
><em>You deal with things by not dealing with them.' My mind repeated the steady mantra as my fingers unfolded the crinkled paper. It angry red ink glared at me while my eyes scanned the words, Huntington's - Positive.

"What if I don't know how to deal with these things?" I sat up, frustrated. Maybe it was wrong, I fooled myself. It could have been a mistake.

I eyed the red ink again, it was a nightmare.

I turned over, pocketing the paper and forcing my mind on other things. But there was nothing good to think about. If my mind wasn't focused on my disease, it was on Amber, helplessly losing life in a bed. Slowly, painfully, left to pine away.

And seeing her helpless. how could I ever have hated her? This wasn't what I wanted.

Why do dead people have to leave behind so much pain? I turned over, no one had left the hospital with even the ghost of a smile on their face, even Kutner. Even House was still too sick to remark about my bisexuality. Everyone was drained. I stalked to the kitchen and grabbed a beer. I wasn't the only one dealing with it by not dealing with it.

**If you find your family, don't you cry  
>In this land of make-believe, dead and dry<strong>

_Cameron:  
><em>I watched Wilson through the glass. His face was red and his mouth pulled into a tight frown, over the edge. His pain ricocheted off the walls and touched somewhere deep in my heart. It took me back six years ago, watching him, _him_, in all his beauty, being taken by cancer. Butchered, and like my husband was butchered, so was Amber. Wilson's girlfriend.

I took a tentative step closer to Wilson, he was in too much pain to regard my presence. I stepped faster, halting just behind him. I raised my hand and grazed his shoulder.

He shuddered and spun around, his eyes were glazed with tears; somewhere inside his soul he was drowning with grief. "Cameron," He murmured, hanging his head.

I chewed my lip, he was in so much pain that his mere presence hurt. I couldn't meet his gaze, watch him suffocate. "Wilson, I-I'm always here for you." I gave a hint of a smile and sped away.

I tried to walk away with a high head, but I knew my heart was just as damaged as his.

**You're so cold, but you feel alive  
>Lay your hand on me one last time<strong>

_House:  
><em>Pain burned in my blood. Devouring blue flames of torment scorched my veins. I reached for the vicodin as I pondered something: Amber didn't like druggies. My hand shook, afraid of Wilson's reaction. Afraid of myself. I killed Amber, simple enough. But I didn't want to really know it yet. I relaxed as vicodin's cold hand soothed my blood. Dousing the fire, it was the only thing that felt good anymore.

I swallowed, I was home now, away from Cuddy, away from Wilson, away from the foul smell of death lurking on Amber's body. It felt horrible. In my mind, there seemed to be another mystery, another symptom I overlooked. Another person to treat.

But for once, everything had stopped.

**Show me how it ends it's alright  
>Show me how defenseless you really are<br>Satisfied and empty inside  
>Well, that's alright, let's give this another try<strong>

_Foreman:_  
>I studied my beer carefully, barely daring to take a sip. Chase and Cameron had just left, but I wasn't ready to move. Even my drunk mind was tortured by the prospect of Amber's death. Telling a still unfamiliar team that she had no hope, and having to examine their shock and despair was haunting. Watching a destroyed Wilson cry out of the haunting fear of loss, almost unbearable.<p>

I, not even knowing her that well, was scared for her too. Nobody knew where she was or where she was going.

I dragged the beer to my mouth and sucked the foam. The taste was as foul as my current situation. "Are you ready?" the waitress shifted her weight, cracking her gum.

I sighed, "I guess."

She grinned, "Cool," and she snatched my money.

The brisk night air bit my nose and made my eyes water. I trudged to the car. Barley registering, the present, the recent past, all surreal. The ride home was a blur of light and sound, too short and too confusing. Hm, that seemed to ring a bell. Oh yeah, Amber's life.

**It's alright**

_Wilson:_  
>"Why is it okay with you? Why aren't you angry?" My tortured gasp was still etched in my brain.<p>

"That is not the last feeling I want to experience." She croaked, her frail fingers traced the back of my hand, weaker, softer, slower until the touch went slack.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. I bit my lip, unable to look into her peaceful face. I clutched tighter, but Amber was slipping farther away. No.

My lips echoed the words she left me: Sorry I'm not here, went to pick up House, love A.' I fell asleep hugging the paper her hand brushed across, the last words she ever wrote, to me. Sleep came through a haze of agony and anger. I knew I was dreaming from the beginning, but the white room - if it was a room - was unusually alive for my melancholy mood. I massaged my temples, confused. But I didn't dwell, here it was warm, comfortable, and I wasn't tortured.

"Wilson," I turned, enchanted by the musical note in the effeminate voice.  
>She stood, tall as ever, her golden hair hanging around her softly. I smiled at her piercing blue gaze and her pink lips. She was a goddess, and she was here.<p>

"Amber!" I didn't, _I couldn't_ contain my excitement, walking steadily closer as the distance between us grew.

She gave me a sad, crooked smile, "It's alright."

Then she was gone, and the sobs came fast.


End file.
